Beet red, Chet yanked off his hat and held it over his heart. “I apologize for my rudeness, Ms. Travers. And for the disrespect.”
“Apology accepted.” Ginger’s eyes twinkled at him. “Now, tell me what I should do with my goats.”
“Well, since you asked . . .” Chet gave Zeke a look to include him. “In my opinion, goats don’t belong here. We’re an equestrian operation, not a farm. Goat breeding doesn’t fit with our typical duties.”
“I’m not breeding them.”
“Then what’s the plan?” Zeke asked.
When Ginger hesitated, Chet slapped his hand to his forehead. “No, Ms. Travers. Don’t do it.”
“Do what?” she asked.
Chet gave a pitiful shake of his head. “You’re going to start an orphanage for animals and call it a petting zoo. Ducks, sheep, critters no one wants. If you’re thinking about llamas, forget it. They spit.”
Zeke ruled out the idea instantly. “There’s too much liability. The insurance costs would—”
A smile softened the lines around Ginger’s mouth. “Gentlemen, relax. We’re talking about just one goat, not a petting zoo. A friend of mine is losing her farm to foreclosure. She was able to sell her horses, but no one wanted Annie. She’s an orphan and just a baby.”
“Aw, crud,” Chet muttered. “We’re doomed.”
Zeke felt the same way.
“Annie is precious.” Ginger’s voice came out with a lilt. “And she desperately needs a good home.”
Who could say no to a baby goat? Not Zeke. And neither could Chet. Little Orphan Annie already had them wrapped around her cloven hoof.
Ginger’s gaze flitted between them before landing solely on Chet. “I know Ladybug’s a nuisance, but Annie won’t be any trouble at all. She’s very sweet, and Chet, you have a gift with animals. I’ve seen it.”
The cowboy scuffed a boot in the dirt. “That’s kind of you to say, Ms. Travers.”
“It’s true.”
Chet gave Zeke a helpless look. They’d been steamrolled by Ginger and they knew it.
Zeke jumped in. “What do you say, Chet? Can we handle another goat?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“Oh good.” Ginger clasped her hands at her trim waist. “Barbara’s bringing Annie tomorrow. If Ladybug takes to her the way I expect, they can share the same pen.”
Chet grunted. “I don’t know about that.”
“I think they’ll do just fine,” Ginger said. “And if they don’t, would you build Annie her own pen?”
“You know I will.”
Ginger smiled her appreciation. “You do a great job, Chet. How long have you been at Caliente Springs?”
“Fourteen years.” His drawl stretched over a decade of memories.
Ginger’s expression turned as wistful as his. “We wouldn’t have made it this far without you.”
“Thank you, Ms. Travers.” Standing tall, he fingered the brim of his hat. “It’s a pleasure to work for you and your brother.” He gave Zeke a nod. “And for this guy too.”
As general manager, Zeke saw himself as the boss and a servant, someone who led by example. The responsibility weighed on him, but he loved what he did. “Thanks, Chet.”
The old cowboy excused himself and left.
The instant he was out of earshot, Ginger faced Zeke. “I know you think I’m a hard-hearted old woman.”
“No, I don’t.” Not only had she put up with George at his worst, she’d forgiven him for ruining her career. They sparred all the time, but underneath the jabs there was real love.
Ginger swept the stable area with her eyes. “I can’t let this place go bankrupt.”
“It won’t.”
“You sound so sure, but you’ve seen the guest count. You know what’s happening as well as I do.”
“Yes, I do.” He’d earned every letter in his MBA. “And I’m still convinced we can turn the resort around.”
She skimmed her eyes over the pipe rail stalls that were as old as the resort, and the ten layers of paint that covered them. “A year from now, this place will be even more run-down. When Barbara asked me to take Annie, she was in tears. Do you know what she said?”
“No.” He wasn’t going to like it either.
“She said she wished she had sold sooner. She fought hard, and in the end she lost everything. I can’t let that happen.”
Bile rose in his throat. It tasted of fear and failure, and he nearly choked on it. The broken freezer, the drought, the old barns glued together with twenty coats of paint. Every day was a battle with the forces of nature and the economy, things a man couldn’t control. Maybe he really was the little boy with his finger in the dike. Or maybe he needed to work harder to bring in new business.
“You have a point,” he said. “It would be foolish to go bankrupt. I won’t let that happen.”
Her gaze swept over the barns, the Gator with its duct-taped seat, and finally to a corral in the distance. “I want to believe you, Zeke. But there’s a fine line between hope and foolishness. George still refuses to even talk about selling. I’m determined to change his mind.”
“So I have some time.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Ginger sighed. “You know George. He’s stubborn.”
Ginger was fighting an uphill battle, but so was Zeke. Even with the hope of the Carter business and a wedding boon, he needed to do more to give Caliente Springs a boost over newer resorts. But improving the old place took money, and the money just wasn’t there.
Ginger’s phone signaled a text. She read it and smiled. “Tiff’s here, and Derek just checked in. I’m meeting them for the food tasting. Will you be there?”
“No. Julia can handle it.”
“I like her a lot,” Ginger admitted. “She’s smart and efficient. And diplomatic. I’m not easy to deal with, you know.”
Zeke smiled. “I’m too smart to agree with you.”
Ginger gave an easy laugh. When she wasn’t being difficult, she was fun to know. “Are you free tonight?”
“I can be.”
“Why don’t you come to the dessert tasting? It’s at the house at seven. Derek’s parents came up from San Diego for a few days. George will be there, and so will Ellen and Julia. We’d love to have you join us.”
Zeke jumped at the chance to spend time with Jules. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”
Ginger clicked the remote to her hybrid sedan. Zeke opened the door, but she stopped before climbing in. “You’re a good man, Zeke.”
He waited for the but. It always came, either from his father or his own conscience.
“When the time comes, George and I will help you find a new position.”
He thanked her, but as soon as she drove off, he gave in to a frown. No way would he give up on saving Caliente Springs and those two hundred jobs, including his own. The thought of storing his diplomas and awards in boxes like the ones in the garage cut him to the heart. He loved this place, the people, even the problems.
Love. It coursed through him with a richness he’d once felt while living as a Christian, but even then he had sometimes wondered if that feeling was genuine or an old habit.
God, are you listening?
Zeke doubted it. Why would God listen to a man who didn’t love Him enough? A headache broke just above his eyes. Ignoring it, he headed back to his office.
Julia dampened a corner of her napkin and dabbed a smear of hot fudge off Max’s face. She would have said no to the big dessert, especially if Hunter planned to take him swimming, but when Hunter suggested it, the delight on Max’s face had stopped her.
“Let’s get the show on the road,” Hunter said to him now. “Are you ready for the pool?”
“Yeah!”
Julia opened her mouth to caution against swimming too soon after lunch, but Hunter was already telling Max they needed to wait an hour before hitting the water.
“We’ll check out my room first,” Hunter said. “You can see the goodies that came in the
gift basket.”
Goodies from Zeke . . . like miniature Milky Ways.
Hunter signaled for the check, took his platinum American Express card out of his wallet, and tapped it on the table.
Their waitress approached with a broad smile. “You’re all set.”
Hunter’s eyebrows pulled together. “But the check—”
“It’s taken care of.” The waitress glanced at Julia, recognized her, and said, “Mr. Monroe treated your family to lunch today.”
Dread trickled down Julia’s spine. Hunter was the guy who always grabbed the check. She used to think he was generous, but now she saw the habit as manipulative. No matter where he was, he needed to be the star, and Zeke had just stolen the show.
Hunter shoved the card back in his wallet and removed some cash instead, presumably to leave a tip. So far, so good. When a person received a free meal, leaving a generous tip was polite and appropriate. Julia let out the breath she’d been holding, but then she saw a hundred-dollar bill in Hunter’s hand.
He held it out to the waitress, making sure everyone saw Ben Franklin’s bald head. “Thank Mr. Monroe for us. And this is for you.”
The waitress gaped at the bill, covered her mouth with one hand, then turned to Hunter with her eyes popping. “That’s too much.”
“Take it. I insist.”
“But—”
“Take it.” He slipped the money into the pocket of her red apron. “You took good care of my family today.”
His family. By blood if not by law; by obligation but without real love. The word ex severed some ties but not all.
The waitress recovered a bit. “Thank you, sir. It’s been a pleasure.”
She might have gushed longer, but Hunter dismissed her with a nod. When she was gone, he hiked up one hip and put away his wallet. “I suppose we need to thank Zeke the Freak.”
The silly name-calling irked her. It also set a bad example for Max. She leaned forward so only Hunter could hear. “Please don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You know what.” She kept her voice low, but the effort scraped at her throat.
“What I know”—he set both hands on the table, his eyes burning into hers—“is that Zeke Monroe has a thing for you.”
“He does not.” A thing didn’t begin to describe the feelings growing between them, but she wasn’t about to enlighten Hunter. “Zeke and I are friends. Get over it.”
Hunter snorted. “Right.”
If she continued to argue, he’d fight even harder. Faking an air of aplomb, she slid out of the booth. Max followed with his backpack on his shoulder. She took his sticky hand, and the two of them headed for the lobby, staying three steps ahead of Hunter.
He caught up to them at the bank of elevators, halted behind Max, and gripped the boy’s shoulder. Julia held tighter to Max’s hand. Crowding her from behind, Hunter touched her back yet again, but he lowered his hand before she could react.
His breath grazed the shell of her ear. “What time should Max and I pick you up for church?”
She yearned to cancel, but if she did, she’d be a hypocrite. Plus Hunter would use the broken promise against her. “I’ll text you later.”
“You’re not going to back out are you?”
“No.”
“So what time?”
“I don’t know yet.” Just once, she wished Hunter would accept what she said without badgering her for details. She couldn’t win, so she faced him. “There are two services. One is at nine-thirty and one is at eleven. I don’t know which one my mom will pick. And I don’t know where the church is. It could take fifteen minutes to get there or it could take thirty. Like I said, I’ll text you.”
Hunter glared at her. “You’re mad. What did I do now?”
You keep touching my back. You stand too close, and you can’t say thank you to anyone. Max loves you, and you’re teaching him to be rude and ungrateful.
There was no point in having the same old argument, so she kept her eyes on the numbers above the elevator. “This isn’t the time.”
“Then when is?”
Never. They’d had this conversation before, when she’d been trying to salvage their relationship. Repeating it proved Einstein’s definition of insanity—doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
The elevator started down, so she hugged Max and told him to have a good time. Max hiked up one shoulder as if the backpack weighed a hundred pounds.
Hunter took it from him, leaning toward Julia as he hoisted it onto his arm. “This is about the tip, isn’t it?”
If she said yes, she’d sound petty. But if she denied the truth, she’d be a liar. She took cover in neutral territory. “The waitress appreciated it. You’ll be the talk of Katrina’s Kitchen.”
His eyes flashed with pleasure, or maybe victory. “Good. I hope Zeke the Freak hears about it.”
Julia’s blood pressure rose a notch. She couldn’t win and was sick to death of holding back every drop of anger.
When the elevator dinged, she muttered good-bye, but as she turned, she spotted Ginger walking toward them and waving.
“Julia!”
Of all the bad luck. Julia was happy to show off Max, but Hunter was a wildcard. Sometimes he mocked her in front of other people and acted like it was funny. Other times he preened over her. Either behavior sickened her.
The elevator was filling up, but Hunter didn’t budge. His gaze was on Ginger, impressively dressed in tailored denim and striding toward them with the air of a star.
Julia put on her game face and waved. When Ginger joined their little group, Julia made introductions. “Max, this is Ms. Travers.”
Ginger bent down and smiled. “Hello, Max. It’s nice to meet you.”
Suddenly shy, Max leaned against Julia. After an understanding smile, Ginger turned to Hunter, who thrust out his hand.
“Ms. Travers. It’s a pleasure. I’m Hunter Adams. Max’s dad.”
“It’s nice to meet you too.” Ginger accepted the handshake with her usual grace. “Thank you for sharing Julia with us. She’s doing a wonderful job.”
“I’m sure she is.” He flashed a smile in her direction. “Julia’s a talented woman.”
So he’d chosen to preen. Jerk! In private he belittled her for starting Dare to Dream Events. He didn’t have the right to piggyback on her accomplishments now, but all Julia could do was smile benignly.
Ginger turned to her. “By the way, Tiff and I checked out the website for Hot Pink Photography. A friend of hers suggested it, and we liked what we saw.”
“I’ll get in touch with the photographer.”
“Good, because time is running out.” Ginger turned back to Hunter. “I hope you enjoy your visit.”
“I’m sure I will.” He puffed out his chest. “After the week I put in at the office, I can use some R&R.”
“What do you do?” Ginger asked politely.
“I’m an attorney. Real estate. It’s my father’s firm. He’s been in practice for years. ”
Ginger cocked her head, her eyes sharp. “I don’t suppose you know someone who’d like to buy this old place?”
“Maybe.”
Julia’s stomach started a slow drop to the floor.
Hunter faced her with a mocking gleam in his eyes. “You remember Uncle Maury.”
“Of course.”
Maury Applegate was an old friend of Hunter’s parents, an uncle by affection, and one of the most successful housing developers in California. If Maury Applegate wanted to buy Caliente Springs, he could do it.
Hunter cocked one brow at Ginger. “If you’re serious about selling, I’ll call my uncle today. He’s always looking for the next big project.”
Ginger’s mouth fell open. “Well, yes. Thank you.”
Hunter took out his phone. “What’s the best way to reach you?”
As they exchanged numbers, another elevator dinged and the mirrored doors crawled open. Hunter brushed a wet k
iss on Julia’s flushed cheek. Her stomach burned until it cramped, and her fingers turned to ice. When Max dashed into the elevator, Hunter and Ginger followed while talking in low tones. As the doors closed, Hunter faced forward. The last thing Julia saw was a smirk on his face.
She pressed her hand to her chest. Calm down. Breathe deep.
Zeke needed to hear the news so he could do damage control, so she hurried to his office. The lights were on in the reception area, but his desk was empty and his computer dark. She couldn’t radio him. The whole staff would hear and be curious. She considered calling his cell, but she didn’t want to explain on the phone. The conversation would have to wait until tonight after the dessert tasting.
Turning to the window that faced the hills, she prayed for the strength to trust God and not her own understanding, because Zeke’s two worst enemies had just formed an alliance, and she’d unwittingly been the catalyst.
eighteen
Zeke’s conversation with Ginger stayed in his mind all afternoon. From the stable he went to the pro shop to check with John about the Carter reservation for Thursday, then he visited the maintenance yard to consult with the road crew about laying asphalt at Golden Point. Last, he responded to a call for assistance from security chief Rex Hayden. A teenage boy had vandalized a candy machine, and his parents were accusing the maid who saw him of lying.
Zeke didn’t make it back to Katrina’s Kitchen until after five p.m. Free at last, he headed toward Katrina’s cubbyhole of an office to pick up the receipt for Hunter’s lunch. As he passed through the back entrance, he met Jack-T in street clothes.
The cook clapped him on the back. “Zeke, my man.”
“Hey, Jack-T.”
“That friend of yours”—Jack gave a slow shake of his head, whistling for good measure—“he blew Shirley into next week.”
The so-called friend had to be Hunter, and Shirley was a waitress. Zeke didn’t know what to imagine. “What happened?”
“He tipped her a C-note.”
“Really.” It was statement, not a question.
“He sure did.” Chuckling, Jack-T slipped by Zeke and reached for the doorknob. “Gotta run, man. But we’re all hoping your friend comes back tomorrow for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
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